


Fire & Light

by mehlisssa



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Diverse!Elriel, F/M, Hindu!Elriel, and no one can stop them, elriel angst, elriel fluff, elriel is celebrating diwali in this fic, it's diwali bitches, why?? bc i felt like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 21:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17190413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehlisssa/pseuds/mehlisssa
Summary: It's Diwali in Velaris, and Azriel might just be ready to celebrate, with Elain's help.





	Fire & Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [julesherondalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesherondalex/gifts).



> A/N: This is one of the most unique fics I’ve ever written, and I’m extremely excited about it! It’s a oneshot written for the Elriel Secret Santa Fan Art/Fic Exchange coordinated by the one and only @rosehallshadowsinger here on Tumblr! I wanted to start by thanking her for organizing it, and checking in and being so so supportive this holiday season! She’s truly an amazing, elriel-shipping person and I’m so happy she contacted me to do this! 
> 
> My person for this “secret santa” is @julesherondalex, so I really do hope you enjoy this fic! 
> 
> Before I begin though, this oneshot is so unique to me because it’s a Diwali story for Elriel, instead of the more popular christmas themed holiday stories. I reference a lot of things from this holiday in the fic, so I wanted to start with a small key just in case anyone reading doesn’t know what all of the words mean. I promise, I’m not trying to be rude or condescending, I just want to make sure everything comes across properly. So thank you for bearing with me, @julesherondalex!
> 
> Diwali: a Hindu holiday celebrating the return of the god-king Rama from war, known as the Festival of Lights. 
> 
> diya: a small clay bowl filled with oil and a cotton wick, lit on fire and placed all around a house and on the street during Diwali. 
> 
> rangoli: colorful powder drawn into designs along the sidewalk and driveways as a signature Diwali decoration. 
> 
> havan: a Hindu ritual involving a huge bonfire and praying around it. 
> 
> kurta: traditional Indian dress for men. 
> 
> lehenga: a two-piece traditional Indian dress for women. 
> 
> sari: a long cloth and blouse wrapped in a specific way that is another traditional Indian dress for women.
> 
> ghungroo bracelets: ankle bracelets filled with bells worn by women.
> 
> mehendi: it’s like henna, but for Indians. 
> 
> This key is to my own knowledge only, based on what I know about my own culture and religious beliefs, so I hope it was as informative as needed! It’s also subjective, and different parts of India have different customs, so this is written purely based on my own experience.

Azriel woke up to find his hands burning. Fire licked up his palms and the pads of his fingers while oil crackled and sizzled, drawing swirling lines and veins of red-hot pain on his skin. He couldn’t think beyond the agony, couldn’t open his mouth to scream for help - not that anyone would hear him. He was back in the dungeon, back in the pitch black cell illuminated only by his own fire-lit hands, a light that did nothing to stop the pain, only feed it. More and more it took, replacing fingerprints with whorls of twisting, agonizing burns, reaching a crescendo of pain and heat until-

Cool fingers covered Azriel’s, snuffing out the fire. They curled around his hands, lovingly caressing the scars. Soon, the pain had been replaced by the soothing chill of those hands, focusing Azriel’s mind down to the simple movement of those fingers.

Azriel, finally, opened his eyes. “Elain,” he rasped,  because staring back at him were not cruelly delighted eyes, reflecting back the pain and fire engulfing his hands. They were warm and brown, concerned and soft. Elain’s hands tightened on his, searching his face for any of the terror that had seized him mere minutes ago. He had no doubt she could see the haunted look in his eyes, feel the dead plume of his shadows, dark and somber. 

“It was just a dream,” she whispered. Slowly, Elain picked up his hands, bringing them to her face. Azriel could barely stand to look at them, having to avert his eyes at the sight. Not tonight. Not when it would be so easy to feel them burning all over again. But she still took them to her lips, placing a soft kiss on his knuckles.

The fire hissed out into oblivion. 

Azriel leaned into her touch, sighing. He was here, in Velaris, sleeping in an apartment with his beautiful, amazing, wonderful wife. He was not eleven years old anymore. He was not trapped. 

_ I am free,  _ he told himself, over and over as Elain threaded her hands through his hair, brushed her thumbs over his hands.  _ I am free,  _ he chanted, until he fell back asleep, this time without seeing fire as soon as he closed his eyes.

* * *

 

When Azriel awoke the next morning, he realized where his panic attack had come from. In his sleep-deprived, nightmare-chased state, he hadn’t realized that it was no ordinary day - it was Diwali. It was the Festival of Lights, where everyone else was celebrating with fire-lit  _ diyas  _ and colorful  _ rangoli  _ and. . .well, it was everything Azriel himself had not gotten when he was eleven years old, locked in a dungeon. When his brothers had decided to take oil and pour it on his hands instead of a  _ diya,  _ when they lit Azriel on fire instead of the cotton wicks. 

Elain was still cradled in his arms when the realization hit him, but as if on cue, her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him with a sleepy smile. Azriel admired the curve of her lips, the set of her eyes, for only a second before his wife rasped, groggy but clear, “Happy Diwali.”

Elain certainly hadn’t forgotten. 

Azriel’s heart swelled at the sight of her, so beautiful even this early in the morning. He couldn’t help the smile that took hold of his lips, momentarily forgetting that anything else existed except for Elain. “Happy Diwali,” he answered back, because for her, it  _ would  _ be happy. She wouldn’t be plagued by the fires outside, illuminating the night. She wouldn’t find her hands shaking every time she had to light a  _ diya.  _ And Azriel would never, ever wish it on anyone -  _ especially  _ not Elain.

But his wife knew him better than anyone else, and could sense the hollow cheer in his words, no matter how good he was at hiding it. She frowned, and Azriel’s heart twinged - of all things, he wanted her to be  _ happy  _ today, like everyone else. Not concerned with his bullshit. 

“Do you want to talk about last night?” Elain asked tentatively, eyes troubled and searching. 

Azriel shut his eyes, pulling Elain closer to him. He grounded himself on the constant thump of her heartbeat, drawing circles on her back with his hands. Elain simply waited for him to answer, content to let him be there with her without a care in the world. She curled her fingers around his neck, playing with his  hair. 

“It’s the fire,” Azriel said, after a long moment. Elain stilled - almost imperceptibly, but she did. As if she wouldn’t be able to hear him otherwise. “We light fires all day and night, in the  _ diyas,  _ for  _ havan,  _ and. . .I don’t see any of the light, or the celebration. I only feel it burning my skin, the  _ agonizing  _ pain.” Azriel was unable to stop his shudder, remembering last night. It was too much for him to take, every year around this time. It was a reminder that he would live with these painful ghosts for the rest of his life, that although Rhys found him and took him away, the burns and the scars would never leave him.  _ Never.  _

Elain drew her head out of his chest, tilting it back to look at him. She ran a finger down his cheek, simply staring into his eyes for a moment. “You deserve better,” she finally said, as if it  _ hurt  _ her that Azriel couldn’t be happy during the biggest celebration of the year, where everyone found the light within themselves and let it shine. “You deserve better than this  _ pain.  _ I will never forgive them for what they did to you, what they  _ continue  _ to do to you, even from their graves.” Her fingers tightened around his jaw in emphasis. 

Azriel’s heart swelled at the female in his arms, so righteous and willing to fight - for  _ him,  _ of all people. So many people underestimated her, assumed because she was so kind and wonderful that she could not be strong and brave. But Azriel knew, that under Elain’s warm smiles and gentle nature was the toughest females he knew, and he was only lucky that she loved him so much, that he could wake up next to her every single morning. 

“I know,” Azriel said, brushing back Elain’s hair. She couldn’t save him from his demons, but she had done more than anyone else ever had. And that was more than enough for him. 

“We don’t have to light them, if you don’t want to,” Elain offered. And Azriel knew that should he say it, theirs would be the only house on the block completely lightless, because Elain truly  _ did  _ care about him. 

But he wouldn’t make her do that.  It was Diwali.

“No,” Azriel said, pulling her back into his chest. He never wanted to let her go. “It’s okay. I’ve survived five hundred years, I’ll be fine.”

Elain looked up to protest, and maybe Azriel should’ve let her, but her lips were so close and she just looked so, so adorable in that moment, that he cut her off with a kiss. She simply melted into his arms, curling her body into his touch, and that alone took Azriel’s mind off of Diwali - at least for a little while.

* * *

 

Azriel stood in front of the mirror eight hours later in full  _ kurta  _ suit, trying not to look as hollow as he felt. Night had fallen upon Velaris an hour ago, and the fires had lit up the night to the point where he couldn’t look outside without seeing children running in pretty new  _ kurtas  _ and  _ lehengas,  _ fluttering flames in  _ diyas  _ lined across every window sill and house, every door and entryway. 

Azriel sighed. There would be a party tonight, at the House of Wind. And he’d have to pretend that his scars didn’t feel like they were burning all over again, that the burning oil didn’t smell like every nightmare he’d ever had about his past. 

He was so caught up in his own reverie that he almost didn’t notice when Elain entered the room - almost. But when he caught sight of her in the mirror, all of his attention was unmistakably on her. Elain looked absolutely stunning in a sparkling pink sari with little mirrors and crystals sown into the delicate silk, catching all the light in the room and turning her into a beautiful beacon. Gold bangles jangled on her wrists, just like the  _ ghungroo  _ bracelets around her ankles. Amidst the gold jewelry plated around her face and the amazing  _ sari  _ itself, and she had rendered Azriel absolutely speechless. 

There was a determined look in her normally soft brown eyes as she walked over to Azriel, plaits swishing and bells ringing. He let Elain curl her arms around his neck, pulling him into her body, and he settled his hands gently on her waist, absolutely reverent. “Hey,” he said softly, pushing the pain far down inside. He wouldn’t let it touch Elain, the purest and best thing he had in his life. 

“Hey,” she answered back, threading fingers into his hair. “How are you feeling?”

Azriel knew it was a carefully veiled question inquiring after his panic regarding the day, and it took him a moment to decide how to respond. He had done this, lived out Diwali, for five hundred years - he could handle one more. But that didn’t mean it didn’t break his heart a little more each time.

“I’m. . .managing,” He settled for that word only because he knew he couldn’t lie to Elain, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to worry. 

That look hadn’t left Elain’s eyes. “I know you are, but. . .I’d hope I can make it a little bit easier. I want to give you a good memory of today, that’d maybe stand out a little more than the bad ones.”

Azriel froze, waiting. No one had ever said anything of the sort to him, and his mind was whirling with thoughts of what she could mean, what he could say - 

And then every thought eddied out of Azriel’s mind as soon as his wife placed a  _ mehendi- _ covered hand lovingly over her stomach. He knew it was a deliberate movement, at the look in Elain’s eyes, nervous and excited, hopeful for him and his reaction.

Most wouldn’t be able to see anything different in Azriel’s expression, but his wife was accustomed to the involuntary blinks and twitches that would give away whatever he was feeling. This was no different, and his shock was practically written on his face, and for a long moment, it was the only thing he was capable of feeling.

Far too long after he’d realized, Azriel finally found his voice. “Are you. . .” he started, the shock beginning to ebb away.

Elain moved her hand in circles over her stomach, patiently. “Azriel,” she started, tentatively, as if unwilling to say anything without knowing what his reaction would be. “I’m pregnant.”

The words seemed to suck all of the astonishment from Azriel’s mind, instead filling it with an intense excitement, growing with every beat of his frantic heart, shaking his hands. A ragged exhale tore from his mouth, and he felt his lips stretch into a stunned smile. 

At the sight of his expression, Elain too began to grin, all tension leaving her shoulders. “Are you happy?” she asked softly, leaning into his body. 

_ “Cauldron, yes,”  _ the words rushed from his mouth, as if the emotions themselves had taken hold of him. Azriel’s arms shook as he wrapped his arms over Elain’s body, so fast and forcefully that she let out a small  _ oof  _ at the impact. Azriel was so overtaken he didn’t know if he should loosen his grip, or hug her tighter. 

“You’re pregnant,” he murmured into her hair, his words sounding almost unbelieving. But no, it was only the awe and reverence of his amazing, bold, and brilliant wife, who was carrying  _ his child, right there.  _

Elain leaned back, and Azriel loosened his grip around her, but still kept his hands on her shoulders. He felt like he could never let her go, ever again.

But Elain had other ideas, and she reached up to her own shoulders to bring his hands down, down to her stomach. There was no bulge, nothing whatsoever beyond Elain’s own words to show that she was pregnant, but he still felt like he was touching glass, a fragile part of her that he would protect with his life. Their  _ child.  _

“This is what I want you to remember,” Elain started, and Azriel tore his eyes away from her stomach to meet her. “This moment. You are here, and it is Diwali, and we are going to have a  _ baby,  _ Azriel. A  _ baby.  _ And it happened on this day.”

Azriel took a deep breath.

“Enough darkness, enough pain. Make some room for the  _ light.”  _

His eyes fluttered shut, but this time, he didn’t see fire and scars and dungeons. He saw his wife, standing in front of him with an extremely pregnant belly. He saw a newborn baby, swaddled in her arms. He saw tiny hands and feet, soft skin and big, curious eyes.

He only felt absolute love in that moment, none of the fear and pain he’d woken up with. Here was a future filled with life and light, and Azriel was ready to leave his past of death and darkness in favor of it. 


End file.
